


Two Steps

by Morefiercethanfire



Series: Traverser's:  Zach - Shadows of Darker Days [1]
Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Gen, Lots of stuff goes boom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 21:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5021497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morefiercethanfire/pseuds/Morefiercethanfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because someone's nearly five hundred  years old, that doesn't mean they're immune to being all sorts of screwed-up. Just ask Zachary Brown. (Call him Zach, people who use his full name usually wind up looking like charcoal briquettes) As a nigh-immortal planeswalker, he's been having quite a few problems lately. PSTD, vengeful Phyrexians, and oh yeah, a mortal companion who just wants to get home right after she slaps Zach into next century.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Steps

_Take two steps north into the unsettled future, south into the unquiet past, east into the present day, or west into the great unknown_.  
\- Terramorphic Expanse (Wizards of the West Coast)

Prologue

After it was over, the word of the man who had dared to scourge an entire continent spread like fire ( _not that fire, never that fire, brighter than stars and hotter than dragon-flame_ ) across the entire world, a tale of sudden death and horrendous slaughter, as if a monster from the stories we tell (foolishly, at that. Belief has quite a bit of power for the things that wait in the shadows.) to our children at bedtime had come to life to wreak havoc and chaos on the world. But, as any planeswalker with a modicum of experience can tell you, what covers one world, can leak over into another…

 

Chapter 1

The musicians chosen for the orchestral choir were truly atrocious, but Anya had insisted, thus necessitating that not even two months before the wedding, a frantic nationwide search had been mounted for someone, _anyone_ who still used those old antiquated violins and pianos to make musical magic. After all, only the best to satisfy his daughter. In this day and age that was an extremely small subset of people. And those pathetic, miserable half-men who had stashed themselves away to live out on the Wall islands were heretics, dismissive of technology and the higher ways of the church. Completely unsuitable, of course! He’d wanted to thump his wife upside the head for even suggesting such an idea, but… well… she was his _wife,_ and as such, she tended to have a relatively low tolerance for that sort of thing. As His Most Royal and Honorable Lord of Scarborough, Defender of the Peace, King and Ruler of Felnid, Bob XXII, walked by the practice room on his way to prepare for said wedding, he cringed. He had heard better music composed by a two-year old with a maintenance computer. The damn fools were awful, but they were all that was available. Shuddering over the music, the supreme ruler of half the continent slipped into the groom’s annex, giving a passing nod at Felix, who looked horrendously burdened with all the fuss being made over him. He shifted to relive the weight of his cape on his aching shoulder and tugged at the collar of the damn thing, trying to achieve more wiggle room.

“Your Majesty! Stop that at once! You’ll stretch the silk beyond all repair!” The seamstress who was tasked with preparing him for the wedding bustled over and wailed in dismay as he tugged at the collar again. He was sure that Anya was giving her a very sizable bonus for putting up with him. He’d gotten the very vague impression that his beloved saw him as something of a trial, a notion which was only supported by the occasional mutter of ‘And people complain about monstrous _brides!_ Heavens, he’s not even the groom.’

“Really Dasca, it’s not necessary to fret so over a mere collar. It’ll stretch a bit and I think Anya shrunk my measurement when she gave it to the tailors. Can’t have the people think that the king is anything less than pitch perfect of course.” he joked.

“Your Majesty,” the middle-aged woman began in the tone of lecturing a wayward child, “that silk was purchased on Maront specifically for the wedding. It would be doing it, and your wife, who so thoughtfully placed the order,” and here he may or may not have cringed slightly, “a very grave disservice to continue tugging and stretching at it as you are currently doing.”

Bob chuckled and lowered his hands. If his wife could see him now, and his interactions with the servants, she might have a stroke on the spot. He did however, make an attempt at formality in public. It was only in private and with trusted servants that he felt safe enough to let his guard down and joke and laugh with them.

After a horrendous amount of prep work, both the groom and the bride were ready and waiting for the king to ascend the throne so that he could oversee the proceedings. As he mounted the steps of the dais, the herald announced the full range of titles and honorifics which he was entitled to as king. The droning would continue on for a good twelve minutes and would also bore to death anyone who was forced to listen to it. As he waited, Bob looked over the assembled nobles and ambassadors in all their finery and frowned. At the leading edge of the crowd, a young man, barely even 20, from the look of him, stood in jeans and a t-shirt. Bob turned away and shook his head. The nerve of some of the younger people these days.

As the herald wrapped up his monologue, his daughter and her groom came walking down the staircase on opposite sides. When the couple stood in front of the priest with hands clasped, the priest took the cloth off of the kingdom’s greatest treasure, the vial of oil said to have been the god Job’s tears that he had shed when his son perished fighting a dragon. The vial had been recovered from the ruins of a city long since forgotten and had changed hands for centuries until it had arrived in Felid. The priest blessed both of them and waved the vial about, along with various other paraphernalia. When both of them wore a ring on their finger, they turned towards the throne. Bob smiled and began.

“Do you, Felix De la Danus, take Margaret Smithson as your wife, to cherish and love for all your life and beyond?”

Felix raised his head and stared at Bob with a glint in his eye that almost seemed to dare him to oppose the marriage. “I do.”

“And do you, Margaret Smithson, take Felix De la Danus as your husband, to cherish and love all your life and beyond?”

Meg was shining with happiness and contentment and beamed up at her father. “I do.”

“Then I proclaim you as husband and wife, joined for the rest of your lives. May that life be long and filled with happiness.” The entire court clapped and cheered as Felix bent Margaret over his arm for the traditional kiss.

From the corner of his eye, Bob spotted the priest arguing and gesticulating with his hands at the young man in jeans. The man seemed to lose patience and suddenly tried to grab the vial of oil from the priest’s hands. A nearby guard leveled his gun and fired. The stranger promptly deflected the energy bolt with a shield and attacked the guard, as confusion and chaos spread throughout the court. The priest used the distraction to seize the vial and flee towards the dais. When the man was done disposing of the guard (numerous broken bones and quite a bit of blood and screaming were involved), he strode towards the steps, looking for all the world like he owned the room. Bob looked down on him and thought that he looked very much like a child throwing a fit.

“That vial of oil. Hand it over.” The man’s voice dripped arrogance and pride.

“And why should I hand over a holy relic to a total stranger?” It was no use calling to the guards until more arrived, he’d already shown that he could deal with them with ease.

“Because it’s dangerous. Now give it over. Now.”

“On the say-so of a total stranger? Hardly!” Looking around, he saw that more men had arrived, one of them with a mage’s containment field. “Step back and I will argue for lenience at your trial.”

The young man sighed and rolled his neck. Then he turned to a beam of light that was shining down through one of the windows and put his hand into it. The light flickered and proceeded to slide up his arm and over his shoulder across his chest in a disturbingly liquid manner. The light continued on its path until it covered all of him from his neck down. Then it seemed to solidify and it blazed like the sun itself come to rest in that room. He was so bright that looking at him left blurred afterimages on Bob’s eyes.

“I don’t do moron well, but that oil is dangerous and you need to give it to me right now.”

Bob stared at him in incredulity. That flagrant display of power would have any normal mage panting in exhaustion. The stranger didn’t even seem winded. His identity was unknown to Bob, but the king knew very well _what_ he was. Bob also knew what that portended for him if the planeswalker became irritated. “No. I don’t even know who you are. Leave now and there won’t be any trouble.”

The boy glared at him and his eyes burned with light. “Last chance. Give. It.”

Bob straightened in throne and stared him down. By god, he may die for it, but he was not going to let this child get the better of him. “No.”

The boy’s mouth curved into a smirk. “Your funeral. By the way, my name is Zack.”

Before Bob could respond, Zack raised his hand the world exploded into light and pain. Then darkness followed. Just before he died, the last thing Bob Smithson heard was the whispering crackle of flames and the despairing scream of a woman.


End file.
